This ceramic vase sits quietly on the desk, its curves soft as a dewdrop about to fall. The glaze is a blend of sky-blue and moon-white, like the light just breaking through after rain. Faintly carved into the body is a pattern of intertwined lotus vines — when you gently run your fingertips over it, you can feel the subtle, thread-like undulations. The belly is full and round, the neck slender and delicate, like a lady in contemplation, hands folded. At the base, the bare reddish-brown clay body is exposed, its kiln-fire heat long since faded, leaving only a gentle warmth. A spray of dried branches leans in the vase; their shadows fall across the body — flower no longer quite flower, vase no longer quite vase — both simply at peace.